And They Lived Happily Ever After
by ridesawhitebike
Summary: So, Katie picks up the pieces. Sort of goes alongside Hanging on the Telephone, can be read by itself though


**I don't normally do this, I do dialogue, not words, but y'know...fuck it.**

She stares blankly at the planner on the wall in the kitchen, the planner that keeps both of their worlds ordered and sane, she laughs to herself at the notion of sanity and madness. At 19 Katie Fitch knows more than most about the nature of this particular beast, she can talk intelligently about psychosis it's causes, manifestations, and treatments, she even has her own textbooks in her room, paid for with her own money. Money she used to spend on frivolities like cheap jewellery, make up, and perfumes.

She reaches out for the fat form on the kitchen table, she's been putting off filling it in all weekend, but it's important, about housing benefit and could make a huge difference to their world, so it has to be done, and done tonight. She's used to forms, used to the system, the doctors, hospitals and health visitors, knows the system, but Jesus, look at the size of this one, it runs to pages and pages ...

Katie allows her mind drift, and as always it drifts back to "that" moment, when they discovered what had happened to Freddie, and to what that Doctor had done. She remembers it now only in fragments, pictures, burst of images in her mind. Karen screaming, Naomi and her sister clinging to each other, crying hysterically, JJ's dumb uncomprehending stare, the endless police interviews, the journalists, and at the very centre of the maelstrom, the still fragile mind of Elizabeth Stonem fracturing finally into a thousand glittering pieces. She remembers Anthea's desperation, her pleas to the doctors of her inability to cope with the shattered remains of her own daughter, and she recalls very precisely the moment she had said aloud;

"I'll look after her"

It had actually been one the easier decisions she had made. She'd analysed it on any number of nights not dissimilar to tonight as to why she'd taken on the care of the broken girl. She understood in an almost clinical way her need to perhaps substitute the children she could never have with Effy, but alongside that was the slightly uncomfortable feeling that she still felt the need to show Effy who was really in charge, because she most certainly was at that moment when Effy had clung to her like a drowning sailor to a life raft, when she had finally bought her to this house.

What had followed had driven Katie almost to the edge of madness and desperation herself, the months of tears, the screaming arguments, the pleading, and cajoling, the threats and apologies, and the moments of utter howling anguish. Nights of bed wetting, of holding Effy's hair away as she puked again and again into the toilet, the fouled sheets. She'd gagged once or twice, puked even, but then steeled herself, and cleaned. Strong disinfectant, bed protectors and midnight bathing had become normal parts of their world. Fresh bed linen and pyjamas always at the ready. Against the advice of doctors, and to the disbelief and surprise of the professionals, they were beginning to emerge oh so slowly and tentatively from that darkness.

She remembers the day Eff had decided that she wanted to go to the shop for cigarettes; Katie had tried to remain calm, nonchalant even, as if this was a normal part of their lives'. She'd given Effy some money, and made sure she had her mobile with her, and had watched as Eff had stopped at the gate, looked back only once, and set off for the newsagent on the corner. Katie had paced for the next long minutes, fretting, her imagination going at a million miles an hour. Effy had of course come back 20 minutes later unfazed by all the fuss she had caused, fags clutched in her hand. Katie could have cried. (She didn't. She was, after all, still Katie "fucking" Fitch). It wasn't until later, after Effy had gone to bed, that she's found the chocolate bar, a Twix, her favourite, placed on the kitchen table. The post-it-note attached to it, had simply said, in Effy's famously awful hand writing;

"For You"

She allowed herself then to let the tears of relief flow. That had soon turned into the great wracking and heaving sobs of months of pent up emotions. Fully 10 minutes later, and only slightly disgusted with herself, she blown her nose and wiped away the last tears. It hadn't stopped her though from carefully folding the post-it-note and adding it to the small collection of her most treasured things. They were after all, her and the broken girl, going to be OK.

Having Emily and Naomi round for the weekend had been a welcome distraction for them all. Even after Naomi had trodden all over Effy's careful routine in the way that only Naomi could, they'd cleaned up, and moved on, they laughed, properly laughed at and with each other just like 'before'. Thrown themselves around the living room to Em's tragically cheesy dance music, just for a while being normal young women. She was envious of Emily, she understood as much. Not because of Naomi, even allowing for the 'gay' thing (that still caught her occasionally by surprise) she still for the life of her couldn't see the attraction in the blonde, sure she could understand she was pretty, beautiful even, but Jesus, moody much? It was the love she was jealous of, the certainty they both had, they'd fought, last week they weren't even speaking , but this weekend...the looks, the casual touches, a hip here, a stroke of the back there, the obvious tenderness, they were so 'couple-y' it was almost nauseating. Images, again jump into her mind unbidden, and why do they go straight to the most embarrassing moments? Katie recalls leaving them to the living room finally to turn it into a crash pad of scattered cushions and spare duvets, the giggling and chatting, then the silence, and finally the low, almost whispered moans, Katie had know with certainty she was listening to her sister making love. Fucks sake, pass the mind bleach...

But, love. There it was, she's felt once herself, for a fleeting moment, pressing her lips against Thomas' an abandonment of senses, of allowing herself to be lost in that feeling. More powerful than any trip, before suddenly remembering and breaking away. Emily felt that? All the time? How did she cope with anything else? And at that crushing moment, Katie had realised that given the shape of her...their lives at the moment there was no space for that sort of love in her world.

"Christ" she'd thought to herself, then aloud "Get a grip Fitch, this form won't fill itself in"

Eff watches from the shadow space between the hall and the kitchen at her friend daydreaming, for daydreaming she most certainly is, staring into the middle distance for the last 10 minutes, and she hopes that whichever dream it is, it's a good one. She yawns massively, turns ready to go back to bed. Pauses, and decides instead into would be much nicer to go into the kitchen and make her friend a cup of tea.


End file.
